Tall Dark Man
by Mapon
Summary: AU, Mature Sena, Oneshot. Hiruma had to correct himself when he looked at Sena - because he was a man, not a boy, and Hiruma knew it would bode ill if he forgot that.


_Disclaimer_: Obviously, I don't own Eyeshield 21. Nor do I make any profit from this story.

**Title**: Tall Dark Man

**Summary**: 'One of those' rockstar stories, complete with bar, stage, and singing. Hiruma meets Sena, Sena meets Hiruma, and Hiruma can't help but notice how much of a man Sena is beneath that shy exterior. AU. Mature Sena.

**AN**: If there's anything I hate, it's weakening a character into a pathetic sniveling mess. And, granted, Sena is pretty pathetic to start with, but when he's in his own element he's a badass, and I think Hiruma really helps him grow into a strong man. So it bothers me when I read a fanfiction and Sena is beyond pathetic, not putting in any sort of fight, not seen as having any strength. And while I'm usually up for a good crossdressing fic, I think people forget too easily that Sena _is a man_ (don't get me started on permanent gender-bend fics). But this story was really born out of the fact that whenever I see Adamn Levine from Maroon 5 I instantly think of Sena. Don't ask me why.

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><p>The boy wasn't famous. <em>Man<em>, Hiruma corrected himself, as the singer on stage had certainly matured into adulthood. There was a hint of stubble, lean muscles, sharp angles. Not entirely angles, but enough. Enough for Hiruma to feel a jolt in his cock before he slammed back the last of his rum and coke. Only coke from now on, he told himself as he wandered back to the bar, because he wasn't interested in a hangover or drunken exploits he would regret in the morning. His fingers tightened around his new drink.

He would remain in control, he affirmed as he glanced back at the stage. The band was almost ready. In the shadows off-stage, which Hiruma could only see due to his carefully selected seat, a woman in a sleek jacket and tight jeans stared worriedly at the singer. Hiruma couldn't fathom why – the man was clearly confident, smiling to his bandmates and the crowd. The hybrid monkey-human with hands clamped around the drumsticks needed more attention than the dark-haired vocalist. The guitarist, tall and with a mop of flaming red hair, seemed calm, if not apathetic. Hiruma couldn't see the keyboardist's face, but he sensed the blond was some pretty thing with the way he twisted his body to the silent music.

Normally he ignored the live performances. But the vocalist was captivating, with tight clothes and a wide smile, his eyes constantly averted. Confident but not wanting to admit it, an undercurrent of shame or shyness that made Hiruma want to go up and hiss at him to act like the man his body displayed. The pulsing fright in the singer made Hiruma look down into his soda. He had probably been mistaken with his earlier throb of lust. He didn't want a man he had to drag around on a leash or train like an innocent puppy – he wanted a man that could hold his own, especially against Hiruma's own violent and coarse nature.

Then the music started, a pop-dance style that didn't suit the bar at all, and the boy opened his mouth to sing, and Hiruma snapped his eyes back to the stage and felt a throb course through his whole body.

How was it the boy wasn't famous? With that voice, that was diving and soaring and surely tearing some important fabric of the universe, with those hips that were twisting and jutting, the way he was making love to the microphone and the crowd that was singularly focused on the man – Hiruma's throat was stuck. That original flash of perception held truer than the longer moments he had witnessed, full of fright and insecurity. When this man sang, he owned the world.

Those dark eyes opened and flicked to Hiruma's hidden corner of the bar. The man's body kept time with the music, shifting and gyrating, and he flashed a smile at the demon. Hiruma frowned. It was just the alcohol making him see things. A lion like the man on stage would not be interested in a snake like Hiruma. Hiruma screamed bad news, bad dealings, bad business. Not that he was, those days were behind him, he stuck to the pay-offs from investments and bargains. Dirty money either way.

Another smile flashed to him, this one brighter. He frowned in return. Perhaps he _wasn't_ hallucinating. And when the third smile came, this time accompanied with a roll of those hips, Hiruma decided it wouldn't be too hard to get backstage and bother that damn vocalist. Musashi wouldn't have a problem with letting him back there. Well, Musashi might, but he wouldn't say anything to Hiruma directly. He would just toss him a veiled look when Hiruma left for the night.

Preferably, the demon thought, with that vocalist wrapped around him.

It took far too long for the band to finish playing. There were more glances at Hiruma's little table, more smiles, more twists of the singer's body. Between songs the vocalist would glance from under his bangs at Hiruma, which made the simmering lust in Hiruma's gut heat to a boil filled with want and irritation. He wanted an equal, someone who could press him against a wall as firmly as he could press them, and he would be damned if the boy had to be _singing_ to retain any confidence.

Then again, perhaps having a night that seemed more like a musical wouldn't be so bad, with a voice like that.

When the band disappeared, so did Hiruma. He was still good at sneaking in shadows, at bending to hide in strange nooks, so it took no effort to sneak into the back and begin walking regally as if he belonged.

Of course, that boy – _no, man_, Hiruma corrected himself again, though with sternness that had not been present before, because the vocalist did display more child-like qualities, what with his ringing hands and downcast eyes – stepped in front of him. Hiruma froze, the action garnering the intended response. The singer whipped his head up and gasped.

Hiruma smiled, all teeth.

The vocalist shuddered, his voice spluttering out, "Hi. Hi, my name is Sena. Sena Kobayakawa."

_Oh_, Hiruma realized distantly, _he _is_ famous_.

Music had never been of much interest to Hiruma, never relevant to his business or blackmail. But Kobayakawa was a name that rang bells, even if they were only ones that were alert to the drone of entertainment news. What a famous star like Kobayakawa was doing in a run-down urban bar Hiruma would never know. He did know that the hesitancy, the downturned eyes, meant something altogether different with knowledge of Kobayakawa's fame. Oh yes, that the man had such crippling modesty still made Hiruma's whole body tingle.

"I'm Yoichi. Pleasure to meet you and all that shit. You've got a damn nice voice," he offered. Of course, Kobayakawa would know that already. He had made a fortune off his 'damn nice voice'.

Still, the vocalist flushed. "Thank you." The lion had turned into a kitten, a kitten from a shelter, fearful of any fast movements.

"You want to head to my place, little cat?" Hiruma asked, letting his voice drip with the possibilities in the offer. For a moment, it seemed Kobayakawa would sprint into his dressing room and not return, lock the door and spend the night shivering behind it. But then a flicker of the true man hidden in boyish anxiety surfaced, like a lantern across a rushing river, and Kobayakawa met his eyes firmly.

"I don't do one night stands," the man bit out.

Hiruma felt his lips curl up. But Kobayakawa did not back down. "I'm not one to get involved with long-term, kitten."

"Of course you are," Kobayakawa responded. His boot brushed the concrete floor, his eyes flitting down a brief second before they locked on Hiruma again. "What you just said, it was practically proof."

And Hiruma laughed at that, because Kobayakawa was probably right. When it came to sex and relationships and goddamn dating Hiruma wouldn't lie, even if it was easier. He had learned that lesson as a teenager, after Agon's hands had wrapped around his neck and almost snapped it. Dating, fucking _dating_, a famous little singer like Kobayakawa would have more backlash than either of them could stand, and lying, deceiving the vocalist would only serve to bring down more public loathing than Hiruma could stand.

"Just because I don't want to break a delicate little heart like yours—"

The look Kobayakawa tossed him was so spiteful it made Hiruma slowly shut his mouth. "Don't call me delicate." The smile returned to Hiruma's face instantly.

"Prove it, little cat."

Kobayakawa's hands clamped down on the black fabric around Hiruma's arm. Fiery eyes met green. The force with which the singer dragged Hiruma through the back door and into the winter chill was surprising, as was his height. Almost as tall as Hiruma, that messy dark hair brushing his cheek as he walked briskly alongside the vocalist. And then there was hesitancy, but with purpose this time, since Kobayakawa couldn't possibly know where Hiruma's apartment was. Hiruma took the lead, taking advantage of Kobayakawa's loosened grip and curling his fingers around the singer's. Kobayakawa let himself be tugged along under orange streetlights and flashing signs. The moon was out, barely, a sliver of silver not yet bright enough to challenge the city's light.

They turned and vanished into alleys and dead streets, silent until Kobayakawa said:

"I want more than a one-night stand."

Hiruma hissed. "That's a shitty idea for both of us."

"It's what I want."

Irritation bubbled again in Hiruma's stomach. They were at the apartment complex now, just rundown enough to give the appearance of poverty. He had seen no reason to stop leasing when the area provided him with reminders of where he came from, when it provided him with the necessary challenges to stay street-smart, when it let him rescue those that needed just a simple hand. And now it would encourage Kobayakawa to think of him as poor, someone who would exploit the singer for money, because wasn't that the type of person Hiruma looked like?

"I don't fucking care," he responded when the irritation finally cooled. He tugged at the vocalist's hand, but Kobayakawa was imitating stone. He frowned, let his face curl in frustration that he was beginning to feel.

"Yes you do," Kobayakawa whispered. "Sleep with me more than once or not at all."

"Fine, I'll fuck you a few times and then you'll leave?"

"Please don't act dense. I know you're smart." Another whisper, one which would have been swallowed by the noisy street if said during the day. Hiruma rolled his eyes. What a strange game this was, with such strange players.

"Oh yeah? What makes you so sure of that, kitten? I'm pretty damn sure you don't know me. And all I know about you is what the tabloids say."

Kobayakawa ripped his hand from Hiruma's, and a streetlamp flickered. Some sort of nightbird cried out. But just as soon as Kobayakawa jerked away he was pressing forward and clawing Hiruma's shoulders, far too close and too-minty breath blowing on Hiruma's face. All angles, all male, masculine, musky. Hiruma felt his hands trail down the body without his consent, feeling the muscles and realizing that under the shyness and stupid demands for a relationship, there lay a man like any other man. Well, he thought as he stared at the singer's face, not like any other man, far too complex and beautiful in the dull city light for that. But a man nonetheless.

His resolve flickered just like the lights. Perhaps a relationship would not be such a trial, not if he could feel that body under him or over him, not if he could have that mouth around him, not if Kobayakawa's eyes retained that same glow. It would be a chore, all relationships were, but what was truly so bad about the possibility of fucking Kobayakawa again and again? Of waking up occasionally to that face?

"Fuck. Fine." Even if his voice was low and distrusting, he found the pressure in his gut building, boiling in pleasure. Kobayakawa smiled. Hiruma's stomach flipped, and he smirked back.

"So you'll go on a few dates with me? There's this coffee shop, near Highland and—"

Hiruma kissed him. It wasn't chaste, nothing about Hiruma was, but it was soft. Softer than Hiruma usually was, because he didn't care if his fangs sliced open a lip or bit a tongue, not when his companion would be gone in the morning. But there was a good chance that Kobayakawa would be there when he woke, maybe making some stupid eggs and toast if the man had any skill cooking. So he took his time, let himself feel the rough lips against his own.

And then Kobayakawa – shouldn't he call the singer Sena if they were going to sleep together and do this ridiculous relationship? – was thrusting his tongue into Hiruma's mouth. Hiruma felt his fingers tug at Sena's shirt, pulling it up in the middle of the fucking street, because – fuck, _yes_. None of his recent lovers could stand up to him, could even attempt to initiate anything . It was his pointed, pierced ears, his spiked blond hair, his angular, sharp and swift body, it was his fangs or his eyes or it was all of him that was just frightening and made for a good romp one night but when morning came and sanity returned they would skitter off. He always had to do the work, be the one pursuing and pushing and fucking, and this man—

Was going to fuck him into his mattress. _Yes_, his mind hissed.

Somehow, they made it up to the apartment. Sena murmured some comment about the cleanliness of the place but Hiruma kissed him again and shoved him against a wall. They made it to the bed, miraculously, and then Sena was tugging off his pants. His mouth was swallowing Hiruma's cock, and by that time Hiruma had given up playacting.

"Yes!" he yelped to the ceiling.

And when he was close, seeing strange starry designs and hearing unicorns braying, Sena leaned over him and threw off his clothes before tearing away Hiruma's shirt and pressing harsh, searing kisses along his chest. His own hands were winding around that amazingly muscular chest, clawing at his back, his voice husking:

"Fuck me."

"Only," Sena panted, "if you fuck me after."

They didn't make love, but it was something close, and the way Sena murmured, "Yoichi, Yoichi, Yoichi," into his ear with each thrust made him shiver and dream of hazy summer days on the beach, fingers intertwined with this singer's. Oh, it was dumb, it was a delusion, but he let it build until he was yelling out his release along with Sena.

He held his promises, both that night and the many that followed.


End file.
